


A closeness like that

by moichi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character(s) of Color, HP: EWE, M/M, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-War, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-11 05:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5615737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moichi/pseuds/moichi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ginny is lying next to him in the high grass. It hasn't been mowed in months. There have been more important things. He doesn't dare turn towards her, frightened of all the things that will have to be said. He knows it's not the same as it had been between them, knows that she has sensed it too. They know each other too well.</p><p>A story of what happens after the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The aftermath of the battle is like a dream. Everything seems to be covered in a haze of translucency that doesn't lessen no matter how many times Harry opens and closes his eyes.

That's not new to him, of course. He recalls having felt the same a number of times, but he prefers not to dwell on those dark moments for too long.

He doesn't need to. Death hasn't lost its clarity despite the years that have passed.

He doesn't remember much of what happens once Voldemort has fallen. People aren't exactly in a celebratory state, there are bodies all around. Ron and Hermione are beside him, that he remembers, and the sun shines inappropriately bright into his sleep deprived eyes.

He remembers leaving Hogwarts to take off to the Burrow, gazing at the castle and wondering whether he would ever visit the common room, the Great Hall, the hidden spaces made his with the help of two other young Gryffindors.

When arriving at the burrow, the same two Gryffindors on either side of him; older, scarred, he realizes that his home isn't just the stationary castle, and that maybe, just maybe, things will be alright again. If things had ever been alright, that is.

* * *

 

The strawberries are the first sweet ones this summer, he is told by Bill. He sticks his thumb in one of them, rips out its small leaves and puts it whole into his mouth. It is sweet. It's the best strawberry he's ever tasted. He tells Bill this, and he nods, but doesn't smile.

The party is the strangest one Harry's been to yet, and that's counting Sir Nicholas's Death Day party. Ron's crying on Hermione's shoulder, slowly dancing under the open sky. Her face is hidden in his neck. Ron is lucky that at least one of them payed any attention during that dance lesson, years ago, Harry thinks as he considers them from his spot on the ground, feeling oddly numb.

Ginny is lying next to him in the high grass. It hasn't been mowed in months. There have been more important things. He doesn't dare turn towards her, frightened of all the things that will have to be said. He knows it's not the same as it had been between them, knows that she has sensed it too. They know each other too well. Thinking back on all those turbulent emotions (was it just a year ago?), he can't help but miss the innocence of it; Him, knowing that he wanted to be with her, and she, wanting the same.

Luna joins them on Harrys other side. Harry wasn't even aware she was at the Burrow, but he isn't surprised. It's packed with celebrators, consolers and mourners.

“You two are breaking up, aren't you?” she says with a slow certainty, leaning her head just a touch to the left and shifting her gaze between Harry and Ginny. Harry thinks she looks eerily like an owl. That aches a bit. He opens his mouth to answer, finally looks over at Ginny.

She catches his eye and they look at each other, really look for the first time in a long, long while.

Harry doesn't know what he wants. With Voldemort dead, ironically his one certain point in life is gone. He's always had a goal, something to fight towards. He knows what Ginny wants and he can't provide it.

She smiles at him, in that way of hers that he loves.

“Yes”, she says to Luna. “Yes, we are.” Luna smiles at them both. 

"I've known for ages. You finally caught up!" She lies down, dirty blonde hair splayed over Harry's shoulder. He looks at Ginny and smiles. She smiles back.

Harry knows Ginny will be one of many keeping him steady. And he will do the same in turn.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry wakes with a start, feeling vaguely disoriented and he has the sense that something is awry. He's heard a noise, someone's talking loudly. At first, he's cold with dread, but then he remembers where he is and is simply annoyed.

He's bundled up in Ginny's bed, his nose in her hair, smelling of flowers he doesn't know the name of. He turns over, picks up the clock on her bedside table and brings it in close to his face, practically touching his nose so that he’ll be able to read it in the dark. A quarter to four. He groans and lies back again. The voices he heard were probably just some Weasleys or one of their many guests, getting up to use the loo or trying to find a very very early morning snack. Harry isn't hungover, he really wasn't in a drinking mood yesterday, but he imagines that a high percentage of the Burrows current inhabitants are.

Mind now somewhat awakened and curious because of the continued noises from downstairs, he decides to get up. It's not like he's on a schedule.

Minutes of fumbling around the room, trying to find his glasses while also not wanting to disturb the sleeping Ginny, has Harry tired yet again and on the brink of giving up. He hears familiar voices. One of them is definitely Neville's calm and surprisingly deep timbre. Harry remembers when he could barely take Neville seriously because his voice was so squeaky. Scrubbing his un-spectacled face, Harry heads for the door and closes it as silently as he can behind him.

Descending the uneven stairs, he mourns the fact that he doesn't know of a magic way to improve his bad vision. Harry walks through the narrow passageway and peers into the kitchen, where he spots three blurry forms, assumedly people. He recognizes one of the blurs as Neville in blue pyjama pants and bare chest; blonde hair and black skin contrasting enough to be vaguely visible. The second blur, he's sure, must be a Weasley twin, but he really can't tell which one. The last of the figures is thin, wearing black, and Harry doesn't recognize them. The figure turns toward him, presumably having heard him approaching. Harry can't tell if they've spotted him, expressions are undistinguishable this far away, but after a few moments of silence, the other two turns towards him as well.

“Harry!” Neville exclaims in surprise, then lowers his voice to a whisper. “What are you doing up?”

“I heard noises.”

“And you came to investigate, naturally.” A voice Harrys identifies as George's says. Of course it's George. He forgot. Numbness settles heavy in his chest again. “Bet you didn't expect the three of us together, chumming it up.”

“Right.” Harrys says carefully, as he still doesn't know who the third person is. “I'm sorry but… I really can't tell who you are.” He says, gesturing to the black-clothed figure. A beat of silence follows. Harry assumes they're taken aback by how awful his vision truly is.

“Really?” George says incredulously. “How about now?” He pushes the person to move forward, they stumble, and Harry suddenly finds himself face-to-face with a rumpled Draco Malfoy.

The last time Harry had seen Malfoy had been at the Hogwarts celebration after the battle. There he had looked awkward and a bit uncomfortable in-between his parents, no relief evident on his pale face. The Malfoy he's now facing is not the same. His jaw is set and his gaze is locked tight on Harry's blurred one.

“I’m sure this is a surprise”. He says bluntly, and Harry can't do anything but nod. His still tired mind is trying to keep up with reality: Neville, George and Malfoy conversing in the kitchen. Malfoy  _being_  in the Burrow. Malfoy, presumably in the Weasleys' home _voluntarily_. It feels very, very wrong and it's also way too late (or early?) for him to take in.

“I need somewhere to hide.” Malfoy hurries on, and Harry nods again. Then the meaning behind that statement hits him. Malfoy wants to stay _here_. In the Burrow. With him. And plenty of others, he reminds himself.

“You want to stay here.” He repeats slowly and Malfoy looks at him like he's an idiot. “You know, you don’t need _my_  permission to stay here.” Malfoy sneers.

“Obviously, I’m just...” He’s cut off by George.

“I gave him permission.”

“Just like that?” Harry asks incredulously.

“We had a pretty long heart-to-heart before you got here.” George responds with a smile Harry can identify even through the blur.

“Right.” He says, nodding weakly. Why not have Malfoy stay here, after all. He snorts a laugh and stumbles a little. It's not funny. He's really, very, very tired. “Right I’m… going back to bed. You just-” he looks at the mis-matched trio. “-you just keep going. Don't mind me.”

Treading back the way he came, Harry manages not to fall on his face and to make his way back to Ginny’s room. The door groans as he opens it and so does he as he sees that in his absence Ginny has stolen the whole duvet, one pale leg stretched across it, keeping it safe from any attempted steal-backs. He pokes her a few times, but she's way stronger than him, even in her sleep, and he resignedly turns his back to hers and curls up on the now cold mattress. Somehow, it feels like Draco Malfoy’s fault.

* * *

 

Harry awakes a second time from loud voices; one of them is obviously Ron, which is jarring. The last time he’d heard that, he’d been on the receiving end.

“Finally you're up.” Ginny says. She's stood in front of the large window, absently brushing her hair. He can't really see her that well, what with the lack of glasses, but she probably looks great. She always does.

“You stole the duvet, you know.”

“I don't do that. You dreamed it.”

“It woke me up.”

“No it didn't. I don't move around when I sleep.” She turns to face him, and he can hear from her voice that she's smiling. “Get up.”

“Right.” he does, and starts looking for his glasses the second time this morning. By the time Ginny’s dressed, he’s got his whole upper body wedged beneath her bed.

“You could just move the bed, you know.” she quips.

“Have you seen my glasses?” he asks, and inhales approximately a gallon of dust. Coughing, he wiggles his way out and looks at Ginny. She's got her wand out.

“What-” he begins and coughs again.

“ _Accio Harry’s glasses_.” she says, and they come flying, seemingly out of nowhere, and lands in her left hand. She gives them to him.

“Right…” he says.

“I'll head down now, if you think you can manage without me?”

“Ha-ha.” She leaves, and he rises from the floor, wiping off his glasses on his pyjama shirt. When putting them on, he realizes that he doesn't have any clothes except for the extremely dirty ones from the day before. He opens Ginny’s dresser and rummages around for a bit, before finding a shirt that, with enough will-power, could fit him. He pulls it on and picks up his dirty jeans. They're crusty with blood around the knees. He tries dusting them off, which results in some dry blood flakes falling on Ginny's floor. She’ll forgive him, he’s sure.

Fully dressed and capable of sight once more, he heads down to the kitchen. It's packed with people, and Ron, who was so easy to hear earlier, isn't there. Harry half-heartedly says hello back to those who greet him, but he easily makes his way through the small crowd. Ginny pokes him in the side and tells him his shirt looks familiar. He deflects her with a smile (“ _It's new!_ ”) and she goes back to fighting to get breakfast easily enough.

He heads to the living room; somebody’s sleeping on the sofa. Lo and behold; its Draco Malfoy. He's still wearing the exact same thing he was earlier, at least Harry thinks so, he's certainly not a fashion expert, it could just as well be entirely different clothing in the same shade of black. His hair is fanned out, a stark contrast against the brown pillows. The room is empty, as if Malfoy’s presence is magnetic, repelling everyone away. Harry wonders if Malfoy has ever slept on a sofa before. He certainly looks like he’s been sleeping on a sofa. Which is no wonder really. He is.

Harry’s deep thoughts are interrupted by Hermione appearing at his side.

“Weird, isn't it.” It's not a question.

“Huh?” Harry says, caught off-guard.

“Seeing Malfoy here.”

“Yeah.” Harry really can't be bothered to analyse how he feels about it, but weird should just about sum it up.

“Ron’s really upset about it, you know.” Harry nods. He’s not surprised. “I mean, he was already…” she quiets. Harry nods again. He gets it. He puts his arm around her shoulders.

“It’ll be all right, ‘Mione.” He sounds about as sure as he feels, but he knows she appreciates the sentiment, and it feels like it's the thing to say. “Where is he?”

“He went back to his room. Said he wanted to be alone.” She sounds glum. He can understand why. It doesn't feel right to be separated from either of them.

Harry doesn't really have a plan for his life, never really has; why bother planning, when there’s always a threat on the horizon? All he knows is this; he doesn't want to be alone. He wants to be with Ron and Hermione, he wants Luna to be there, Neville, Ginny, anyone and everyone. He just does not want to be alone, ever, ever.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s raining. Ron complained about it earlier and then Harry had agreed with him, but now he doesn't mind much. If Harry was apt at stringing words together, maybe he’d talk to Ron about how the rain cleans the air, seems to wash the past away, things like that. He’s not though, so he keeps quiet and listens to Ron talk.

They're in Ron's room; him, Ron, and Hermione, of course. They really can't fit on Ron's bed like they once could, now somewhat full-grown adults. Ron is settled against the floorboards, long legs stretched out, almost reaching the end of the bed. Hermione is opposite him, knees drawn up. Harry is facing the tiny window, legs crossed, probably crushing one of Ron’s shins a bit. Ron hasn't mentioned it though, so he doesn't move.

Harry doesn't know what everyone else is doing. For him, the world seems to have stopped to a halt. Most likely, food is being cooked, clothes are being cleaned; pieces of a former life are being picked up and fused together once more. Harry doesn't know how to do it. He's eaten, a little. He's showered. He's hugged a lot of people, some of which he didn't even know.

Hermione's hand is in his hair, lazily combing it. The touch grounds him. He leans back a little.

He knows he's got a home; Grimmauld Place is his. But the thought of going there, to try and sort through Sirius’ old things… He can't bear it. He could ask his friends to come along, of course, but he's reluctant to ask Ron to leave his home. He'd come along, of course, he doesn't doubt that, but the Weasleys really doesn't need any splitting up at the moment.

“Harry?” He turns towards Ron.

“My leg’s fallen asleep.”

“Right.” Harry tries to re-position himself, but the bed really is too small. Ron draws his legs up, and Harry moves into the middle, in-between his best friends. He leans against Ron, and Hermione leans against him. They don't talk.

At seven-thirty in the evening they're all half asleep in a heap, and Harry takes it as his cue to be the responsible adult when he starts sliding off the mattress. He gets up and puts on his glasses.

“I'll find something to eat.” Hermione gives him a thumbs-up and Ron snores.

It's quiet downstairs. Harry doesn't like it. The Burrow is supposed to be boisterous, people running around, things all over every visible surface. Now it almost seems tidy.

In the kitchen he finds George and Percy, quietly conversing. They look up when he walks in, as though caught doing something inappropriate. George’s face softens when he sees who it is, and Percy looks away, not meeting Harry’s gaze.

“Hi.” Harry says, suddenly unsure and extremely aware of the fact that he hasn't spoken to Percy in years, literally.

“Hi.” the two brothers echo him. They don't say anything else. Harry gingerly draws out a chair and sits down.

“So, what's… what are you doing?”

“We’re discussing the…” Percy hesitates and looks over at George.

“Malfoy-situation.” George finishes for him and Percy nods. It's strange, seeing them so in sync. He hasn't seen it in such a long time, if ever.

“Where is he?” Harry asks, directing it at Percy. It's such a novelty, seeing him like this; wearing a huge jumper, red hair tousled.

“He’s in my room.” Percy says, and Harry can see George smiling in the corner of his eye. Percy continues. “I’m in Bill’s room, he and Fleur are staying in George’s and-” he stops abruptly, swallows and looks down at his hands on the table.

“In my room.” George finishes. Harry nods. He doesn't dare ask where George is sleeping. He looks exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes like bruises, as well as various small nicks and cuts. Probably from the battle. Harry swallows.

“I've got to… I told Ron and Hermione I'd get them some food.” he says to break the tension.

“Help yourself.”

Harry does, and ends up with more food than three people could possibly eat in one go. Harry imagines Mrs. Weasley, tirelessly making sure that there's enough for everyone, not for the first time in the aftermath of a war. He has to close his eyes for a second to collect himself.

Nevertheless, he eventually manages three plates up the stairs, stopping at the sight of Ginny’s door being halfway open. He glances inside. She’s on the floor, and Luna is there too, her head in Ginny’s lap. He thought Luna had already gone home, like most of the others. Luna smiles up at Ginny. He can't see Ginny's face, hidden behind a curtain of red hair. Luna's fingers reach up and tangle in it. He decides not to disturb them and continues upwards.

At the second floor, he stops once more. The door to Percy’s room is closed. He stops outside it anyway, and just listens for a couple of seconds. Nothing. He wonders how Malfoy ended up here, of all places. He must have been forced, anything else would simply be absurd. Did his parents make him come here? The Malfoys are rich, surely they could have come up with a more comfortable hiding place?

He considers knocking and just asking, then thinks it over and balks at his own stupidity. He heads up again.

When he opens the door to the room, two pairs of eyes are instantly upon him.

“Yes!” Hermione exclaims when she sees what he's carrying. She bounces up, and Harry is stunned by her enthusiasm. She helps him carry his feast to the bed and deposits it all over the mattress and Ron's legs. He doesn't protest, much, and even laughs a little. Harry and Hermione happen to glance at each other simultaneously and they share a small smile.

It's like he said; It'll be all right.

* * *

 

Harry doesn't really feel like going down and interrupting whatever’s going on between Luna and Ginny, so he, as placatingly as possible, asks to stay in Ron’s room.

“You won't fit!” Ron is making a fair point. Harry thinks he can easily sway Hermione to take his side, given the way she's side-eyeing Ron for talking with his mouth full of food. That _Harry_ went down and got for them, mind you.

“I’ll just sleep on a mattress on the floor.”

“Why can't you just sleep in Ginny's room?” Hermione boxes Ron on the arm.

“They broke up!”

“He slept there yesterday, didn't he?”

“Well…” Hermione hesitates.

“Why don't you want to sleep with my sister anymore, huh?”

Behind Ron’s shoulder, Hermione covers her mouth to keep from laughing. Harry tries giving her a stern look, but the corners of his mouth are twitching. They break out into full laughter.

Harry sleeps on a mattress that night, and Ron never stops asking what was so funny. They never explain it.

* * *

 

The next morning, Harry feels good. He wakes up reasonably early, is first to reach the shower (and subsequently does not have to wait behind a long line of Weasleys). He steals some of Ron's too-big clothes and just rolls up the sleeves and pants, in a way that feels worryingly nostalgic.

Ron and Hermione are still sleeping, cuddled up and looking sickeningly sweet. Hermione’s curly hair is in its natural state, completely fallen out of its formerly neat braid, and Ron is just about drenched in hair. Only his freckled nose sticks out, as he's resting on her shoulder.

Harry makes a face at them out of principle, but he's smiling when he starts descending the stairs. It's creaking an awful lot, but the Weasleys are used to sleeping through worse noises and general chaos so he pays it no mind.

His morning cheer is abruptly and irredeemably destroyed when he walks into the kitchen, finding it already occupied by a lone figure.

Malfoy. Of course.

Malfoy looks idiotic, just sitting there, obviously out of place with his hands around a chipped red mug. Harry considers attempting a tactical retreat, but it's obvious he's been spotted. Instead, Harry just freezes on the spot and stares at Malfoy. Malfoy stares back and sips at whatever’s in his mug. Several seconds go by before Harry moves again. Neither of them says anything.

Harry opens a cupboard and grabs a mug of his own. He goes to fill the tea kettle and instead burns his hand on it.

“Fuck!” he says, and rushes to douse his hand in cold water. Malfoy doesn't react. Harry stares angrily at the back of his head. Dick.

“Did you make tea?” he says, forcing himself to sound calm.

“Yes.” Malfoy answers nonchalantly. Harry doesn't know why, but it makes him even angrier.

“Didn't think you could make tea.” he mutters. He inspects his hand. The palm is red and swollen. He pours himself some of Malfoys tea with his left hand, hoping it isn't poisoned.

“You're a pretty shit wizard, Potter.” Malfoy says.

“Just randomly insulting people as always?”

“No, you-” Malfoy sounds frustrated. Harry smiles and sips his tea. Its pretty shit. He should tell Malfoy. “Your hand.” Malfoy clarifies, while not really clarifying at all. Harry turns to face him.

“I burnt my hand, so I'm a pretty shit wizard? That's hardly logical.”

“You could just heal it. With magic?” Malfoy lifts a hand to wave it about in the air a little, illustratively, as if Harry’s an idiot. Ah.

“Right.” Harry says, turning bright red. He turns back to the counter. “I was going to.” Its silent once more. Harry studies his hand. It's his wand hand. How do you heal your wand hand? Not the first time he’s hurt himself on tea, he thinks and his thoughts fly to Dudley. Harry supposes he'll never see him again. It's a strange thought. Harry looks over his shoulder and considers Malfoy. “Thanks for the tea.” he says to fill the silence. He sees Malfoys shoulders tensing. He doesn't answer. That's fine, Harry thinks. Passive aggressive is better than aggressive aggressive, in his opinion.

He takes another sip of tea. Its dreadful. He keeps drinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally draco is in this harry/draco fic am i right!!  
> this fic is probably gonna be...way longer than it has any business being.


	4. Chapter 4

A whole week passes before Harry speaks to Malfoy once more. Bill and Fleur move out, as well as Charlie. Luna, on the other hand, moves in. Or, well, she doesn't officially. But Harry’s been degraded to sleeping in George’s room, and Luna is always by Ginny’s side. 

The two of them is sitting outside, and he's watching them absently through the kitchen window. Luna is braiding Ginny's hair with flowers.

He wonders whether they’re together. Harry doesn’t ask. He gets it. Maybe they were even together before Harry and Ginny broke up, this last year at Hogwarts when Harry hadn’t been there. He finds that he doesn’t really care. 

He does feel a sting of jealousy, watching their closeness. It’s a bit how he feels when he catches Ron and Hermione being extra loving towards each other. It’s not like he’s jealous, more like he’s feeling a bit left out. He doesn’t tell anyone, of course. How ridiculous wouldn't that sound. Harry Potter, in the aftermath of a war; feeling a bit left out, feeling a bit lonely. He snorts and turns around. 

Draco Malfoy’s sitting at the table, staring at him. Harry flinches. He hates being caught off-guard, especially by… weird ex-enemies. Or maybe simply enemies. He hasn’t decided yet.

“What?” he asks Malfoy defensively.

“Nothing.” Malfoy answers, but he keeps staring.

Always staring, lately, from under his too-long fringe. He's like a shadow, always sitting quietly and doing absolutely nothing at all. Harry would have gone wild if he were in his position, nothing to do, not even someone to talk to. He pities him a bit. Malfoy would probably be angry if he knew about that. Harry smiles to himself, and glances back up at Malfoy.

“You should cut your hair, you know. You're looking shaggy.”

“You're an expert, of course?” Malfoy sneers. Touchy subject, apparently. Harry doesn't answer, he simply leaves the room. He gets enough comments about his unruly hair from his friends, he certainly doesn't need them from anyone else. 

Hermione is sitting alone in the living room, reading a book. Sometimes she’s such a stereotype of herself. Her feet are drawn up under her, and she’s wearing one of Ron’s Christmas jumpers. Her hair could probably reach her lower back, if it wasn't so curly, Harry considers. Everybody’s hair is longer. Harry doesn't like it. It signifies the passing of time. He should ask Hermione to cut his. He definitely wouldn't trust Ron with a scissor so close to his head, and if he asked Hermione to do it now, he'd avoid Ron getting hurt, as he and George are in Diagon Alley, checking on the shop.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are out as well, they constantly are nowadays. Harry would feel bad for intruding on their hospitality for as long as he has, but as they're barely at home, he never has a chance to. The other Weasleys certainly don't seem to care. There's a touch of desperation in all of them; George, Ginny, Ron and Percy. They all are a bit too welcoming, a bit too eager towards newcomers wishing to live in their house. Case in point: Ron hasn't said a word about Malfoy living in his house since his initial very negative reaction. They all seem to want to fill the house up.

Harry speaks up.

“Hermione, would you cut my hair?”

 

* * *

 

 

They move outside to do it. Harry reasons that this way, there will be no hair to clean up inside. Hermione tells him that she could fix it magically, but she indulges him.

They're on the grass, he can see Ginny and Luna from here. They’re in the same spot he saw them last, Luna’s laughing. Ginny happens to catch his eye and she smiles. He does the same.

Hermione’s kneeling behind him and she's snipping at his hair, quite carefully. She asks him how he wants it and he shrugs. 

“Just don’t do anything magic to it. I don’t want to end up with green hair or something like that.”

Hermione huffs.

“As if I’d ever mess it up. If I turned your hair green, it would be entirely on purpose.” Harry grins.

“So what's your plan?”

“Hm?” Hermione doesn’t stop cutting.

“You and Ron, what's your plan?” Harry clarifies. “Where are you going to live?”

Hermione stops. Her hands leave his hair.

“Why did you stop?” Harry starts to turn around, but her voice stops him.

“Harry… “she sighs. “You have such a martyr complex.” 

Harry looks down at his hands. His nails are bitten down, further than nails are supposed to be bitten, he supposes.

“You don’t have to worry about that right now, anyway.”

“I’m not worrying.” Harry mumbles. Hermione continues on as if he hadn’t spoken at all.

“We have time, nobody is going to force us to do something until we're ready.” Harry feels her hand, the scissors, in his hair again. “We are not leaving you, ever.”

Harry chews his thumb.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“It's nothing to be sorry about. Don’t worry so much, okay?” 

“I’m just worried you’ll try to move in with me and then I’ll never get rid of you two.” Hermione shoves his shoulder. He smiles.

“I think I need to shave your neck a bit.”

 

* * *

Harry’s neck is shaved, and green, and he’s sulking. When Ron and George returns home, though, they laugh and laugh so it’s worth it. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley also come back home, but they don’t seem to notice it. They’re caught up in other things, he supposes. 

They make dinner; him, Luna and Hermione mostly. Luna has some odd ideas when it comes to ingredients but aside from that she’s absolutely brilliant in the kitchen, and Harry has years of practice preparing food for others so it all comes together quite well. Hermione sets the table; nine plates. It’s not until it’s all finished that Luna remarks;

“We’re one plate short.” Hermione looks at the table and re-counts, and she and Harry are both confused for a few seconds before they catch on. They manage to fit another plate in, and they then call everyone for dinner.

“Go get him.” Hermione tells Harry as the others start filing in.

“Why do I have to do it?” Hermione is about to retort, quite snappishly it seems, but Luna cuts in before she says anything further.

“I’ll go get him!”

Harry and Hermione share a look as she heads up the stairs. What did they ever do to deserve someone so selfless and good?

Mrs. Weasley seems distant, but otherwise the atmosphere at the table is pretty light. The conversation Ron and Ginny has (quite loudly) doesn’t even falter when Luna returns with Malfoy trailing behind her. She sits down next to Harry, and Malfoy sits next to her. Harry wonders how she managed to lure him out. He glances at Malfoy. His hair is shorter.

“Did you cut your hair?” Harry says without thinking. Malfoy looks his way. His features seem sharper, now that they aren’t framed by his white fringe. He nods. Harry can’t decide whether he prefers it now, compared to before.

“So you cut it yourself?” Luna asks.

Malfoy frowns and touches his nape, self-consciously. His expression seems strangely vulnerable, unhidden by hair.

“Does it look like I did?”

“Yes.” Luna says and smiles. Malfoy makes a grimace at her.

“Looks nice.” Harry mumbles.

“Huh?” Malfoy turns his face back towards him, still in a grimace. He didn't hear.

“I said, looks bad.” Harry says hurriedly and returns to his food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please let me know if you like the story so far or not :) it has a big influence on my writing!


	5. Chapter 5

Harry is sat at the kitchen table in his pants. His head is pressed against the smooth table top, his glasses smushed against his face. It’s way too early in the morning and the light’s still too bright. Hermione is up too (fully dressed and far too energetic for Harry’s liking), reading _The Daily Prophet_. He turns his head towards her. His own face is staring back at him from the front page of _The Prophet_. He looks stern, his glasses are gleaming in the sunlight. Harry doesn’t know where the photo is from; he’s barely left the Burrow for months. Front page-Harry turns to the left, talking to someone outside the photo’s frames. The side of his neck is bloody. From the Battle, then.

“I’ve never read anything this positive about you before.” Hermione says, breaking the blessed quiet. She looks at him over the top of the paper. Harry keeps staring at photo-Harry. Over the picture, **THE SAVIOUR** is printed in bold block letters. He wonders whether people are ever going to tire of reading about him. He certainly hopes they will. “Oh!” Hermione exclaims. That makes Harry look up at her. Her face is scrunched up, and he can’t determine whether her expression is negative or positive. She turns the paper over, showing him what made her react. It’s a smaller article, on page 5, presumably not as interesting as whatever story on Harry that took up the first few pages. **Death Eaters still on the run** , the title proclaims. Harry looks back at Hermione with doubt.

“That’s really nothing new…”

“Read it.” She urges him, shoving the paper in his face. He reluctantly straightens in his chair and grabs on to _The Prophet_. He scans the article. The bulk of it is made up of a list: name after name after name, ages and locations. One catches his eye.

_Draco Malfoy, 19, Unknown_

Harry looks up at Hermione. Her face is unreadable.

“They don’t know where he is?”

“Obviously.”

“Not really our problem though, is it?” Harry mumbles without conviction and looks back down at the list. He’s not even fooling himself.

“We’re kind of hiding a criminal here, Harry.” She sounds worried, Harry can tell from years of experience. Oddly, her nervousness calms him. He smiles a little.

“What are they going to do? Arrest us?” He looks at her over the frame of his glasses, knowing it makes him look ridiculous. She smiles grudgingly.

“Take this seriously please?”

“I am!” He’s grinning at her and she’s trying to keep her face straight when Luna enters and chirps “Good morning!”. Harry mimics her greeting while Hermione gives an uncharacteristic grunt and snatches the newspaper back from him.

The rest join them in the kitchen one after one. Ginny enters only a few minutes after Luna and Harry gives her a suggestive eyebrow waggle. She rolls her eyes at him.

Malfoy enters and Harry pointedly does not look at him, choosing to focus on Ron who shuffles in tiredly. His face brightens when he spots Hermione. He swipes her thick hair to the side and kisses her neck. She turns and smiles at him and he smiles back. Harry watches unabashedly with his chin in his hands. He’s way past the point of caring about their PDA. They look ridiculous. It’s disgustingly cute, really.

“Want some tea?” Ron asks her.

“Yes please.” She says and smiles sweetly, as if she hadn’t emptied two cups already with Harry as her witness. Ron heads to the kitchen counter where Malfoy sits, seeming to deem the chairs untrustworthy.

“Don’t I get a kiss?” Harry says to Ron’s turned back, accidentally catching Malfoy’s eye. Ron snorts and doesn’t respond further, but Harry doesn’t register it. He’s caught in the most awkward stare-down he’s experienced in this lifetime. Malfoy looks surprised, mostly, before his gaze quickly flicks between Harry’s lips and his eyes (by desire or unconsciously, Harry doesn’t know). The gray eyes seem inhumanly light for a few moments, before Malfoy breaks their silent gazing by sliding off the counter and leaving the room. Harry’s heart is hammering in his chest and his face is burning hot. Everyone else is moving around him, unaware, not breaking their morning pattern, as if Harry did not just barely escape having a heart attack right then and there at the kitchen table.

 

* * *

 

 

Despite his earlier nonchalance the list of Death Eater names stays at the back of Harry’s mind all day (the “awkward-stare-with-Malfoy” stays at the front but he refuses to acknowledge it and when he inadvertently does it makes him cringe with mortification).

He’s doing the laundry with Ron outside, and it consists mostly of them idly flicking their wands to wash or rinse something. Ron has done it hundreds of times, and his clothes all turn out spotless, neatly hanging in a row. Harry’s thoughts are elsewhere, and his clothing line shows it, where more than half of his somewhat washed clothes are on the ground underneath it, rather than on it. Ron fixes them for him, but Harry doesn’t even notice.

He tries to remember how exactly Malfoy came to stay with them but it’s all a bit unclear. He remembers waking up in the middle of the night, remembers Neville being there, and George. How Malfoy managed to convince them to let him stay is less clear. For all Harry knows, Malfoy could have hexed them all or something. He certainly wouldn’t have noticed, as confused as he was then. The more Harry thinks about it, the more it makes sense.

“How powerful would you have to be to create some kind of mass-hypnosis spell?” Harry says out loud. Ron glances at him, but continues drying Harry’s share of clothing.

“Pretty powerful, mate.” Harry goes silent again. He’s entirely given up on the pretence of doing his share of the work. Ron sighs.

“You gonna go dark side or something?”

“What?” Harry looks up at him, confused.

“You planning on mass-hypnotizing people? Cause I wanna be on your side when that happens.”

“Yeah, I’ll spare you.” Harry smiles and Ron smiles back. He returns to washing, and Harry returns to his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll be better at updating now that it summer. it's wild how quickly time goes by...


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally updating this... to you poor few that were waiting on an update for so long, im really sorry! you know how it is, sometimes you write, and sometimes you're deeply depressed. luckily im writing now!

 

They move to Grimmauld Place within the next week. “They” entail Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna and, surprisingly, Malfoy. Hermione’s the one who suggests it, late one evening when Harry and Ron are playing chess on Harry’s (Ginny’s, really) bed, and she’s writing something or other at the desk. Ron is losing, his mind is somewhere else, but Harry keeps making bad moves to keep the game going. Eventually he can’t keep the charade up any longer, and his knight smashes Ron’s queen, small wooden pieces landing on the duvet. Ron just shrugs. He’s been in a dark mood lately, and Harry’s desperate to cheer him up, if only just a little bit.

“Hey Hermione, what’re you writing?” He says with what he hopes passes for a light tone. Hermione gives him a sidelong glance, as if she’s fully aware of what he’s doing. Her gaze slides over to Ron, who’s picking at the splinters of wood. She sighs.

“I’m planning for moving.” This manages to catch both Harry’s and Ron’s attention.

“Where are you going?” Ron says leaning forward, a worried glint in his eyes. Hermione snorts and looks at him fondly.

“We’re all going to Grimmauld Place. We talked about this, right Harry?”

“Right!” Harry answers, despite not having a clue as to what conversation she’s referencing. “Us three and…?”

“Ginny and Luna” Her tone is somewhat patronizing, as if she can see right through Harry’s charade. Harry nods, like he knows what she’s talking about. Hermione smirks at him, then her expression flickers and her smile falters, suddenly thoughtful. “I also asked Malfoy.” She says, turning her head back down to her writing.

“What?”

“What!?” Harry and Ron exclaim at the same time. “What did he say!” Harry asks hurriedly, Ron nodding at his question and looking somewhat desperately at Hermione.

“He’s not coming.”

Harry’s shoulders sag, and he feels strangely upset.

“What!” Ron seems far more upset than Harry, which makes Hermione look back up at him in confusion.

“I thought you would be happy? You said yesterday –“

“He should be grateful you invited him!” Ron moves to the edge of the bed, putting his feet down on the floor. His hands are shaking. Harry awkwardly puts his hand on his shoulder. He exchanges a helpless look with Hermione. “I’m going to go talk to him.” Ron continues.

“Hey – “ Harry begins, but doesn’t really know how to continue. Ron abruptly gets up and is out the door before any of the other two can properly react. Harry stares at the door opening, listening to Ron’s footsteps disappearing down the creaking stairs.

“We could have handled that better.” He says finally. Hermione is oddly calm considering the situation.

“He’ll be fine. He just needs to vent a bit.”

“At Malfoy?” Harry is dubious.

“Why not.” Hermione gives him a tiny smile. “Maybe he’ll change his mind.”

Harry snorts.

“Don’t do that Harry, it’s undignified.” They laugh.

Ten minutes later Ron returns, and he tells them that their moving line-up will consist of one more member. Despite various pleads and threats, he doesn’t tell him how he managed that.

* * *

 

It's not particularly hard to move for any of them. Harry doesn't have a lot of experience. Moving or sometimes running away, sure, but packing up more belongings than what will fit in a single suitcase? Not really. Being able to freely use magic is also a big help.

They apparate to the front of Grimmauld Place, not as neatly as some of them would have hoped, but Ron gives Harry a hand up from the cold side-walk, so it’s not all bad. As he stands there, he realizes he has five pairs of expecting gazes on him, and the following realization is that _this is his house._ He _owns_ a house.

His hand shakes a bit from nerves, which strikes him as utterly ridiculous, as he averts the Fidelius charm and opens the door. He’s done far more things in his past, and yet.

The hallway seems strangely smaller than he remembers it, but it’s just as dusty. A feeling of emptiness surprises him when he walks in and there are no lights shining, no one there to greet them.

Ginny makes a bad pun about it really being _a grim, mouldy place,_ and Harry smiles a bit, and it doesn’t feel as bad.

They start moving the bags in, and Harry can almost feel a physical sting of pain in his empty left hand where he's usually carrying a birdcage, but he's only distracted for a second as Ron needs help carrying one of his own, multiple bags.

Malfoy has a suitcase roughly the size of Harry's. Harry watches him walk around, looking up the stairway, white shirt getting dust on the sleeves from the handrail he’s leaning against. Harry vaguely wonders whether Malfoy prioritised having pressed trousers in his sole escape bag. He looks good, proper somehow in white and black. The sight annoys him, he makes a face and rolls his eyes when Malfoy glances at him over his shoulder.

* * *

 

The whole first day, they clean. This is something Harry actually does have experience with, and this too is made a lot easier with magic. Harry’s in the kitchen with Ginny and Hermione. He’s sharing his earlier thoughts with them while he’s deep in one of the cabinets, getting rid of spiders and strange looking insects with far more legs that he can’t remember ever seeing before.

“… and!” He continues, currently on a rant about Malfoy’s fashion choices. “Who packs _suits_ when you only own one bag? What kind of logic is that, right?”

He pops out, expecting to be backed on this, and catches the bored look Ginny has as she’s twirling her wand, cleaning the cutlery in a far more advanced way than Harry’s spider massacre. “What?” He asks with a confused frown.

“Nothing!” Hermione answers for Ginny. She’s cleaning crystal ware, which they collectively decided was not something Ginny or Harry could be trusted with.

“Harry” Ginny says, ignoring Hermione’s diplomatic answer entirely. “Did it occur to you that he may have used an Extension charm on the bag?” Harry opens his mouth to protest, pointlessly, but Ginny interrupts. “Also, could we please talk about something other than Malfoy, just for a change?”

“That’s –“Harry feels his face grow hot. “That’s, I mean, sure but –“He shuts his mouth. “You come up with something else then.” He finishes petulantly. For the next ten minutes he stubbornly keeps quiet in protest when Ginny and Hermione discuss the possibility of Ginny going back to school, but ultimately gives in when the topic turns to her quidditch career.

* * *

 

Eventually the others start pouring down into the kitchen when it’s nearing lunch time. Luna and Harry are cooking, since they’re deemed the most proficient. Harry’s chopping onion “the muggle way”, as Ginny calls it. It’s more familiar to him to be wandless in the kitchen, and in combination with Luna’s, well, creative use of magic, they make a surprisingly good team.

The others are setting the table, Malfoy reaches past Harry to get plates and Harry absently notes that they’re almost the exact same height. He glances down and freezes. Malfoys sleeves are rolled up, and Harry can see a flash of red before Malfoy is moving, setting the plates on the edge of the counter, just barely teetering from falling to the floor.

Malfoy rolls his sleeves down with practiced ease, right first, left second. Harry’s still looking at the white fabric now covering Malfoy’s pale arms. He can hear his own pulse pounding.

"Didn't it disappear?" He says, finding his own voice hoarse and quiet.

Malfoy doesn't look at him.

“No.”

He picks up the plates again, and the conversation doesn't continue.


End file.
